Dead Man's Curve
by J-J-Sawyer-Phillips
Summary: Set during season three, just after the Christmas episode. Dean's deal comes due in exactly five months when the boys get a call from Bobby about a case in Southern California. Several accidents have occurred on a little-known road- accidents that always involve a motorcycle, a car, and decapitation. The Winchesters meet an ally for the first time.
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

**DECEMBER 29, 1997**

**12:19 AM**

**BREA CANYON ROAD; BREA, CA**

Jennifer Fox sat comfortably in the passenger seat of her boyfriend's new 1998 Ford Mustang. He'd gotten it as a Christmas/early graduation present from his parents just three short days ago. Just one day after he'd surprised both of their families by proposing to Jennifer during a Christmas Eve dinner party her mom had thrown.

Matt Nolan babbled on and on about the mechanical wonders of his new car, and even though she understood exactly zero about such things, she contentedly listened to him. She may not care about a car beyond the fact that it got her from Point A to Point B, but she loved how passionate Matt got when discussing something he truly enjoyed or believed in. When he had a pet project, he literally threw himself into it. That tenacity, she was sure, would serve him well in law school.

_Just a couple more years of school, passing all our exams and the BAR, then maybe we can talk dad into retiring. _Jennifer had always wanted to follow in her father Martin's footsteps- get her BA, go to USC law school. But by joining in her father's practice, she could avoid the 80 hour work weeks and hassles of a big impersonal law firm. She wanted, like her father had, to be able to chose her clients and not be restricted by some aging dinosaur of a senior partner who hadn't practiced law in more than a decade. And now, best of all, she wouldn't be the only one joining the ranks of J. Martin Fox, A Professional Corporation.

_No, better make that _Fox & Nolan, APC_. Or does _Fox, Nolan & Fox_ have a nicer ring to it?_ She flinched as they rounded a bend and headlights flashed from the opposite lane. The canyon was so poorly lit that even when the other drivers _weren't_ using their Brights, you still went momentarily blind when someone was coming from the other direction.

"You alright, Jen?" Matt asked attentively. "I'm sorry, babe. I'm totally boring you over here, aren't I?"

"No, Matt, it's fine. I just wish that people would stop using their high beams through here. I know it's dark, but regular headlights seem to work just fine. All the Brights will do is let you see the expression on the animal's face right before you run it over." She'd made that mistake once; Jennifer loved animals, so to not only hit one, but to be able to see the little critter in detail right before the impact had really bothered her.

"Awwww… Don't tell me my little bunny slayer is afraid to get her hands dirty," Matt pouted at her, using a cutesy, baby-talk tone of voice.

"That's not funny, Matt! I have that little rabbit's death on my conscience!" She snuck a sly smile at him, knowing he was teasing her, and teasing him right back. They didn't agree on several issues, animal rights being one of them- Matt enjoyed ordering medium rare steaks, thank you very much. Jennifer chose to be a vegetarian, with the occasional exception of fish- because she couldn't shake the idyllic image she had of farm life, where all the species lived together in harmony and no one feared being eaten. A simplistic and irrational view, Matt said when she'd explained her decision to him. But despite such differences, they agreed on what mattered most: family, loyalty, faith.

"And I hate it when you call me that! You might as well call me a murderer!" She turned her body toward the window and affected a quivering lower lip.

"Now, now! We can't have the next hotshot attorney for M. Fox, APC being libeled with such an indecorous slur. Not to mention that a murder conviction would likely get you disbarred. So, I move that the slanderous handles of "bunny slayer" and "murderer" be withdrawn from evidence, and furthermore, that the defendant's counsel owes the opposing attorney a kiss."

Turning back to him, and stretching her body over the gear shift to comply, she whispered, "Mmmmm… I love it when you talk legalese to me." They both leaned into the kiss, savoring the sweetness of a moment alone. Surrounded by their parents and younger siblings, there hadn't been much time to properly celebrate their engagement. Even out with their friends, they were not overtly physically affectionate. It lasted longer than was strictly necessary, but it felt good to be able to indulge themselves in private.

Lights flashed across their faces, causing them to break their kiss quickly. One light grew to fill the entire windshield, then crystalline shards came hurtling at them as the glass shattered inward.

It was so much darker than Jennifer remembered it being just a moment before. She knew that they'd crashed somehow. She didn't know what had caused it though. Clearly, some other vehicle had to be involved. She thought that she should be flashing back to what had happened, remembering bits and pieces that would form the cohesive story- like in the movies. But she simply couldn't remember, and it was getting darker.

She managed to move her neck. A lot of pain, but it was moving. She looked as far left as she could to see how Matt was, but she couldn't see his face. She tried to speak, but nothing came out; she tried to reach out to him, but discovered that she couldn't move her arm. Her legs wouldn't budge either. She heard the tinkling of glass just outside of the driver's side window- which wasn't there anymore. She saw a man wearing a motorcycle helmet and tried calling out to him, but her mouth only opened and closed, a faint mewling coming from the back of her throat. _It's so cold… Where's my sweater?..._ Jennifer closed her eyes and never opened them again.


	2. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

**January 1, 2008**

**12:19 AM**

Dean was behind the wheel of the Impala, and Sam had leaned back to sleep about half an hour ago when Dean's cell phone started ringing. He checked the caller ID and answered. "Hey, Bobby. I was going to save the Happy New Year call for a less ungodly hour, but since you beat me to the punch…"

"Can the wiseass remarks, Dean. I've got a job for you boys, and I'll need you to step on it." Dean elbowed his brother to wake him up, causing Sam to jump out of his nap. _Pen, map,_ Dean mouthed to him. Sam immediately opened the glove box and pulled out their map of Florida, the necessary pen and paper, and a flashlight. Dean pressed the button to put Bobby on speaker.

"You boys remember our good friend Dante, right?"

"Sure do," Dean replied. "What sort of monster does the good Professor have for us this time?" It was just a short time ago that Dean and Sam had learned of one of Bobby's contacts to the supernatural world, a mystery benefactor who went by the name Professor Dante. Thanks to him, they'd gotten information on the werewolf who had started the whole Glenn/Madison business in San Francisco and been able to take out a growing pack in Northern California. Sam and Dean had been able to save a girl who'd been targeted by the alpha wolf, plus eliminate a potentially disastrous threat to the good citizens of Placer County.

"Well, Dante wasn't exactly big on the details of this one. Said they think it's some kind of haunting or spirit, but they're not positive. Get this though, you're supposed to get in contact with 'em. I've got an address and time for the meeting… where are you boys at right now?"

Dean did a quick check for road signs, but no such luck. "Well, I know we're on I-95 headed North, somewhere past Daytona Beach, but before St. Augustine."

Bobby sighed. "Well, I'd suggest you fly out there, but I won't waste my breath. Whatever this is, Dante was specific that it was going down in exactly one week. So you boys better haul ass- don't stop to sleep, 'cause the location for the meeting is in California. Little burb outside of L.A. called Brea. Probably be easier to take the I-10 all the way out there, unless you know some shortcuts."

Sam looked over at Dean with a puzzled expression. "Hey, Bobby, did Professor Dante say why they chose to contact us now? I mean, one week is not exactly a lot of notice." That was Sam; always questioning the directions they were given.

"I wish I could tell you, Sam, but the Professor is good. I mean, better than me good. If a week is the deadline on this thing, it's because no one could have figured it out faster. Also, I've got a pass phrase for you. Apparently, security is kind of a big issue for our friend. And, Sam? Dante said to make sure you, and I quote, _don't over-think this thing like he always does_. Just give the pass code as is."


	3. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

**January 4, 2008**

**Brea, CA **

The boys knew that Professor Dante was just a false name that their contact hid behind, but whoever they, Sam thought that the guy was making his connection to the occult way too obvious. _He might as well put up a billboard advertising his location. Although, this is hardly the first place I'd look for someone calling themselves a professor_, he thought as Dean parked in front of what appeared to be the main office of Inferno Motorsports Company.

The building sat on a curve in the street, one of many in a sprawling industrial area. 897 Columbia Street was only two stories tall, but it was also situated on top of hill making it look taller. Walls of white concrete didn't really stand out, but the sculpture out front did. According to what they had read up on the town, Brea city law required that every single building, or housing development, set up a piece of artwork. Based on some of the statues they had passed, Dean and Sam figured that there wasn't a law in place saying that the "art" had to be pretty. Inferno Motorsports had set up a twisted-steel pentagram that looked like it was on fire. Subtle, apparently, wasn't Professor Dante's style.

"This Dante must be either really cocky, or really stupid to be connected to a place like this," Sam said, personally inclined to think that it was a combination of the two.

"I don't know, man… it has a certain logic to it." His younger brother started at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"Exactly, Dean. When this place gets traced to him, it'll be like a flashing neon sign to any monster or demon who's carrying a grudge."

"I'm serious, Sammy. Look, would a person who specializes in the supernatural be this reckless? Would you expect some racing junkie to know squat about demons, spirits, and all the other creepy crawlies out there? And the name "Professor Dante"… you think that he's actually a professor of some kind? What idiot would be so obvious? I could go on and on here, Sammy. Let's just go in and meet our Mystery Date."

Sam sighed in frustration as Dean jumped out of the car. Even on the downhill side of the crossroads deal that left him with a year to live, the older Winchester never slowed down enough. He'd never say it- because Dean would never agree or let him live it down- but Sam wished he could convince him to take a break. But Dean was Dean, and he'd keep racing head-on into cases until the day the demon came to collect its due. Sam got out, slammed the door, and started jogging to catch up.

The boys opened the double, frosted-glass doors and walked together into a small reception area. The walls were a flat gray. The floor was a darker gray marble, shot through with white. There were black leather captain's chairs and a glass coffee table covered in car and motorcycle trade magazines. A staircase leading up to the second floor was situated to the right, but dominating the room was a large painting on the wall behind the receptionist's desk.

The subject was modern, but the style, Sam noticed, was late Italian Renaissance in the realism, colors, and shading. Two figures sat on a sleek chrome and black motorcycle: the driver, cloaked in dark gray, had no discernable face, but the hands that gripped the bars were pale and skeletal; the passenger was another story. The hood of their red cloak was up, but the face was clearly visible. The model for the second figure was incredibly beautiful, but could have been either a man or a woman; Dean was thinking woman, while Sam couldn't decide. The riders were speeding toward what looked like a cave, and carved into the rock above the entrance was the phrase _Abandon All Hope_.

Clearly, Sam had underestimated their contact- the man wasn't informed on the occult, so much as obsessed. It made him question the code all the more. "Quite impressive, isn't it?" A woman's voice startled Sam out of his contemplation of the painting. The voice belonged to a cute blonde in a black pencil skirt and a silver silk blouse, apparently doing her best to match the monochrome look of her surroundings. "That painting was commissioned after the designs for the _Despayre_ line were approved for production. Our first success. Was there something I could do for you gentlemen?"

Dean flashed the girl one of his brightest smiles. "I can think of a few things, darlin', but at the moment, we're here to see your boss."

"I don't have any appointments scheduled on my calendar…" She flipped through a little purple day planner rapidly.

Sam shot his brother a confused/suspicious look. They'd gotten to the point where they could read each other's facial tics pretty well. That look meant that Sam was worried they were walking into a trap. "Well, sweetheart, you might have something under the name Virgil…" Dean looked back with a glance that interpreted as aware of the risk, but unconcerned. He nodded at his brother to finish the pass code.

Sam cleared his throat nervously, rolling his eyes. "We're- uh- looking for a copy of _The Divine Comedy_ in the original- Latin." _Which anyone who's read Dante knows it was written in Italian, which is why it was such a big deal at the time_. Dean had just stared him when he'd gone into a rant about the controversy that was involved with writing a poem in a vernacular language during the Renaissance. Then he'd called Sam a nerd.

"Oh!" The girl slipped her hand over her mouth in surprise. "Why didn't you say you were priority clients? I'm so sorry gentlemen, just follow me, please." She led the way to a short hallway to the right just in front of the stairs, and walked up to the door at the end. Dean followed first, watching the way her body swayed on account of her high-heeled shoes. He turned around slightly, smacking Sam in the stomach- a gesture indicating that Dean had called dibs.

She stopped at the closed door and entered a code into a keypad. Years of his father's training made Sam attempt to memorize the code, but she had clearly been given excellent security instruction because he could not see the keypad, despite his height advantage. There was a loud beep, at which point the girl swiped a card that was connected to her skirt's belt-loop. He didn't see where the card went, but Sam assumed that she had slipped it into and out of a pocket. The door slid open, and she led the way through.

As he passed, Dean noticed that the door was steel- and at least six inches thick. He whistled. "Man! Security's tight around here."

The blonde laughed, a throaty, bedroom kind of laugh. "Inferno Motorsports is still a relatively small firm, gentlemen. Competition in the United States alone is fierce, let alone the world markets we're producing for. And all of our designs and pre-fab are done in house, so a lot of valuable information is at stake. We are very thorough about protecting our investments and that of our clients."

They continued walking past several office doors and conference rooms before making a left down another hallway. This one had no doors, but on the left wall was a series of glass windows that looked out onto what appeared to be some sort of garage area/production line. There was another door, with another key-code and card-swipe. The girl opened the door, and held it for them, stepping aside to let them through. Dean winked at her as he passed by, and though he thought she was smiling, he couldn't tell because she'd averted her gaze. The door clicked shut behind him, and he and Sam faced a man of indiscriminate age sitting at what looked like a standard interrogation room table.

"Professor Dante?" Sam asked the obvious question. The man said nothing. The boys looked at each other, confused by the silence that had descended.

"A test, gentlemen. I'm sure you were told that security is very important here, so I trust you won't mind us taking a few precautionary measures." The man walked over to a table that was standing in the corner. From it, he picked up a bowl and brought it over to the larger table- silver, Dean noticed. "Feel free to inspect it, if you don't trust me."

Dean nodded to Sam, who picked up the bowl. There was nothing in it that he could see. He ran his finger along the inside, but there was no powder or residue to indicate a poison. "You know, Dante, paranoia is a treatable problem." Sam sighed- leave it to Dean to insult their contact.

"I am not Dante, though I'm flattered you think so." The man took a water bottle, unscrewed the lid, and poured the water into the silver bowl when Sam placed it down between them. A rosary was produced, and the purification and sanctification ritual was performed. The man drank first- to prove it was safe for them- then motioned for them to drink as well.

_At least it's bottled Holy Water, _Dean thought before taking a gulp. He still winced at the metallic taste caused by the silver though. "Ok. I'm done with the horse and pony show! If you aren't Professor Dante, then who the hell is?!" Sam might question directions at first, but it was Dean who was quickest to get impatient when the answers didn't come fast enough for him.

"Follow me, gentlemen." He led them to a door that Sam had marked the second they came into the room. As it appeared to have no lock, he figured it was the closest, safest exit. This door opened directly onto the production floor. The three men walked along the wall to their right until they came to some elevator doors. The older man handed each of them a key card with a post-it note stuck to it. "These are for your personal use, gentlemen. Your individual codes and cards should grant you access to all levels of the building. Just call the elevator, both swipe your cards and enter your codes, and you will be taken to see Professor Dante."

They watched as the man walked back they way they'd come. "Dude. I doubt even Langley has a security set up like this. Who the hell is this guy?!"

"I don't know, Dean. But if we want to find out, there's only one way…" Sam pushed the call button, then used the keypad to clear his card and code. Dean followed suit, and within seconds, the elevator doors opened. There were only two buttons, one of which lit up as the doors shut, and the car started to descend. The brothers looked at each other, then stared straight ahead, waiting for the doors to open again. When they did, the boys stepped out into what appeared to be another garage area. Cars of almost every description were parked in rows, ranging from high-end luxury to rusted old clunkers. At the end of one of the rows, a very familiar black car was parked at an angle perpendicular to the others.

"Sweetheart…" Dean rushed forward toward the Impala, stopping short when he noticed a figure leaned up against it. "What the- what did you do to my car, you son of a bitch?!"

Instead of an answer came the sound of slow, exaggerated claps. "You shouldn't be so free with your endearments, Dean. You could hurt a girl's feelings if you aren't careful." Both of the Winchesters gawked at the receptionist, who stepped away from the car to face them.


	4. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

"First off, you need to step away from my car. Second, you need to tell me how in the hell you got her in here. And if you hotwired her, or so much as scratched-"

"Oh, relax, Dean. Do you think I could really hurt this beauty? Especially since I'm the one who supplied you with the parts to fix her up?" She tossed something underhanded to him, and Dean caught it reflexively: his keys.

"How did you?..."

"When Sam was scoping out exits to the room and you were staring at my rack as I held the door for you. Honestly, boys… you shouldn't underestimate women like that." The look on her face was very familiar to the Winchesters- it looked like their father's after they had failed some drill or test.

"Look, lady, I have had it up to here with all these games that you find so highly amusing. Now, I want some answers, and I want them now. Where is Professor Dante?" Dean started to close the gap between himself and the girl, striding harshly as if he were preparing for a fight.

The receptionist appeared unthreatened by the whole situation. In fact, Sam thought, she looked way too calm for a woman facing an irate, unknown man. "Miss, please. We've played by your rules, and passed your security measures. We just want to help Professor Dante solve this problem of his. Can you take us to him?"

Her calm exterior cracked just slightly in a way Sam did not expect: she looked angry. "Fearing for my safety, Sam? How chivalrous of you!" Sarcasm practically dripped out. With a knowing glint in her eyes, she reached out with her right hand and started absently stroking the hood of the Impala. "But I can handle my own battles, thank you. Now, what was that you were saying, Dean? Something about getting away from your baby?"

_About as subtle as sticking a hand up his date's skirt; not smart_. Sam barely finished his though before Dean rushed her. She stayed leaning up against the hood until the last possible second, then grabbed the hand that was reaching out for hers. She ducked down, twisting his wrist, then pushing up with her whole body, launched Dean over the hood and onto a large matted area on the other side of the car.

Sam stopped, mouth gaping open. Here was a cute blonde, with no muscles to speak of, wearing a skirt and heels no less, and she just tossed a grown man. She turned to Sam after watching his brother hit the mat. "Let's just keep this between myself and Dean for the moment, shall we?" She gave Sam her back and walked over to the Winchester who was still trying to get air into his lungs. She kicked off the heels at the edge of the mat, stalked over, and bent down to talk to Dean. "Have I proven my point?"

She held out her hand, palm up. He grasped it, then swung his legs around to lay her flat on her back. Anticipating this, she jumped to avoid the kick. After landing, she pulled hard on his hand, forcing him on his feet and temporarily off balance. Having been in a number of brawls, this wasn't much of a handicap for him. He immediately attempted to kick her with his left leg, figuring to use his longer limbs as an advantage. But she anticipated again, and with a move straight out of an old Hollywood musical, twirled straight into his body. She landed a solid shot to his nose before ducking and dodging behind him, out of his reach.

He spun around quickly to avoid her attempt at a punch to his kidneys. Nursing a bloody nose and a wounded ego, Dean bent his knees slightly, putting his hands up, in a fighter's stance. She mirrored him, still wearing the same calm expression as she had when he'd walked in the office. "Third time the charm you think?" She asked, her voice not even breathy with exertion.

Right at that moment, Dean not only contemplated really hitting this girl, but quite possibly killing her too. He attacked again, feinting a right kick. She took the bait, moving in closer. He landed a left to her ribs, then tried to grab her torso. What he got was a kick that connected to the underside of his jaw. Despite being so close, she'd maneuvered herself for a back-flip- a successful one at that. Dean was once again on his back, but within seconds, she was straddling his stomach with a knife pressed in the hollow of his throat.

"Don't even move, Sam. I'm not going to send your brother away before his time is up. I think he's gotten my point, finally." She did not even flick an eye in his direction, but kept her gaze riveted on her pinned opponent. Sam was speechless. He'd just watch Dean get taken down by a chick. Not the most comfortable thing in the world, to watch your big brother take a beating from anyone. "Don't be too hard on yourself, Dean. You had a Marine for a dad, but I had several senseis over the years."

He looked up at her. For the first time, he noticed that her eyes were very dark. Not blue, not gray, but a weird combination color that he couldn't quite describe. Also, at her hairline, he noticed some dark brown hairs sticking out. As if watching his examination of her face, she nodded, then pulled off her wig. Her whole face transformed. Instead of a slightly tanned blonde with darkish blue eyes, he was looking at a pale brunette with eyes that were a silver-gray. He could think of only one thing to say: "You know, darlin', there are a lot more enjoyable things we could be doing in this position."

She didn't even bat an eyelash, let alone crack a smile. Dean's grin wilted around the edges as she just continued to stare at him. Finally, she stood up slowly, still watching his every move. He noticed that the right side of her skirt was now split open, revealing a dagger sheath for the weapon she had just been using. As she replaced her blade, the cuff of her sleeve pulled up a bit, revealing an odd line. Dean looked at her questioningly: she was wearing skin-toned gloves. "Ok. This was fascinating and all, but where is Professor Dante?" Seeing his older brother threatened had not done anything to make Sam want to cooperate with anyone.

"Sam-"

"No, Dean, I'm serious. We jump through all these hoops, and you just fought some chick who hasn't done anything to prove who she's working for-"

"Sammy!"

"What?!"

"She _is_ Professor Dante." Sam whirled around to face the woman, who executed an elaborate stage bow.

"In the flesh. Although, I'm sorry to say, Sam, I would have placed even money on you being the one to solve my little mystery. Even after studying you both for so long, I have to say, Dean, you manage to surprise me quite a bit."

"Whoa! Whoa! What do you mean 'study' us?"

"Calm down, Dean. I'll explain everything shortly. First, let's go somewhere a little less open, shall we?"


	5. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

The three of them were now in some sort of office attached to the underground garage. The "receptionist" had stepped into another room to change, and was now wearing jeans, a gray v-neck t-shirt, black boots, and tight-fitting black gloves, the kind worn by racers. The last puzzled Sam, who kept looking at them; they reminded him of something, but he wasn't sure what yet. She walked over to the refrigerator that was built into a small bar and pulled out three beers.

"Sorry that it's not your usual, but I didn't think you'd mind branching out." She handed one to each of them; it was some kind of imported brown ale. _Clearly money isn't an object for this chick, not with a set up like this and beer that we normally can't afford to buy_, Dean thought. "I'll try to make this as quick and painless as possible. As Dean has already figured out, I am Professor Dante. You know that there are a lot of hunters out there, but what you may not know, is that there are several people like myself and like Bobby Singer who keep our eyes and ears on all things supernatural. We're not official or anything, but anything that happens out west of the Rockies is basically my territory. I watch out for cases, and pass them on to hunters who I think can handle them.

"I fed you guys the information on San Francisco, and then once I determined that it wasn't isolated, I investigated further. That was a great save in Auburn, by the way. Lora-Beth told me to say hi, Sam, if I ever got the chance to meet you." Sam blushed at the mention of the girl they'd saved from the werewolf Trevor Bell. They'd had a great night together, but relationships in their line of work were dangerous at best. Lora-Beth deserved a guy who could be there for her full time, not always on the road and running into danger.

"Now, to why I brought you out here. Down here, we have several roads that are frequented by biker gangs. The gangs themselves aren't the problem- these roads are treacherous enough if you're in a car, but they can be downright suicidal on a bike. Carbon Canyon Road, Trabuco Canyon… they're known as dead man's curves. Oddly enough though, there's a worse one right here in my back yard. Brea Canyon Road has a higher body count than the others. Partly, that's due to the fact that people driving it tend to go faster, since it seems less dangerous. However, for the past several years, there have been some strange accidents- all involving bikers who share the same cause of death: decapitation."

Dean looked over at his brother. Sam was totally absorbed in what she was saying; whatever reservations he still had about her were melting away in the details of the case. Finally, he couldn't contain his own misgivings. "And why should we trust you? You've given us no proof of who you are, or if we can trust you. How do we know that you aren't a demon or the creature that we're looking for?" She locked gazes with him, then strode over to him.

She held out her arm, palm up, just as when she'd offered to help him from the floor. "Your knife is in your right boot; highest silver content you can forge. If I'm a demon, or anything other than a ghost, it will burn me. You also have a silver flask of Holy Water that you keep in your right jacket pocket; pour some into my beer and I'll drink it. I don't fancy being shot with a rock salt round or being bashed around by an iron object, but I'm sure we could work something out for both of those. You can start with a cut though."

Sam jumped up, about to protest, but she held her right hand up to silence him. She stared straight into Dean's eyes. He'd never seen someone so cool and collected, as if nothing could affect her, nothing could pierce her armor. Never taking his eyes off of her, he reached down to grab his knife. She rolled the sleeve of her left arm up a bit, letting him grasp her lower arm. She didn't even glance at the blade as he drew it down her flesh. A line of bright red blood appeared and started flowing down the curve of her skin, but nothing else. There was no sizzling sound or stench of burning skin or reek of sulfur. She wasn't inhuman.

Throughout the whole thing, her eyes never left Dean and her expression never wavered. "Sam, there should be a black hand towel in one of the drawers of the mini bar. Please get it for me." He walked quickly, found it where she'd said it'd be, then went over to her and applied it to her upper arm. When he joined them, Dean finally looked away. Something about this woman unsettled him- he didn't know if he just mistrusted her, or if there was something else that was bothering him. She may be human, but she certainly wasn't normal.

"If that satisfies you, then I must insist we leave here. I don't keep all of my research here, and I'm sure you boys could use a shower and some rest."

"I really don't like this, Sammy."

"She passed your test, Dean. And she has a good point- the Impala is a bit conspicuous for the neighborhood. Plus, if she wants to keep her secret from the rest of the world, your car parked in her driveway will be like a flashing neon sign for any demons in the area." Sam was behind the wheel of a brand new high-end sedan, which was just one of the many problems Dean was having. The Impala was still parked in the safety of Professor Dante's garage. Dean had let out a stream of curses when he'd seen the kind of car they'd need to drive to blend in. It was foreign, small, and he doubted it would go over 40 mph. He'd refused flat out to be caught dead driving such a yuppie piece of crap. Hence, Sam was driving.

Dante had also insisted on a change of clothes for them, so they were now both wearing outfits that they usually would only wear when posing as feds: polished leather shoes, button-down shirts, slacks, belts. Sam had put on the tie she'd provided, but at that point, Dean had drawn the line. If he wasn't impersonating an officer, then there was no reason for him to wear it. They pulled up to 811 Byron Street and parked in the driveway. It was a typical upper-middle class track home: peach colored stucco walls, red tile roofing, red brick accents_. In other words, it's Dean's worst nightmare_, Sam thought.

They each grabbed their duffels from the back seat before walking up to the hardwood door. Dean punched the doorbell. Dante had told them that she'd have to put on an act for the neighbors, so that they wouldn't be suspicious of the Winchesters' presence at the house. The door opened and they both couldn't help but stare: Dante was back in the high heels, but was now wearing a curve hugging gray suit, which made her eyes look almost silver. Her dark hair was swept up into a loose, curly knot, leaving her neck bare.

She looked over at Dean, winked at him, then flashed them a dazzling smile. "Sam! I'm so glad you could make it! How was the trip down from Stanford?" She reached up and wrapped her arms around Sam's neck. Awkwardly, he hugged her back.

"It was fine. A little long though." He shot his brother a curious glance. She had told them that she was passing them off as colleagues from her college days, but Sam wondered why she chose his old school rather than hers.

"And is this the law protégé you were telling me about? The one who is interested in working as a graduate assistant?" She put her focus back on Dean. "Hi, I'm Dr. Fox. I've heard so much about you. Come on in guys, I hope you're hungry." With that, she led them into the house, closing and locking the door behind them. The brilliant smile vanished instantly. "That _should_ have been sufficient for the local gossips, I think. I shudder to think of the speculations they're still going to make about two men staying here. Anyway, I'll show you to your rooms and the bathroom. Take your time showering, then we'll meet back downstairs and I'll explain things more fully."


	6. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

Neither brother was used to staying in a house- they'd lived in motels for most of their lives, only squatting when they were strapped for cash- so having rooms of their own was a bit of a novelty for them. The rooms were both on the front side of the house on the second floor. Dante had insisted that they stay with her, as there weren't exactly any cheap motels close by, and pointed out the practicality of not having to pay for their stay.

They'd done rock-paper-scissors for the first shower- Sam had won- so Dean spent a little time checking out the house. There were a lot of pictures hanging on the walls, so it appeared that Dante had quite a bit of family. Two siblings: older sister and younger brother by the looks of it. The brother showed up in some with another woman, and some others with the same woman and a baby- married, he guessed. The sister didn't have any photos like the brother. In fact, it looked like she wasn't in some of the ones taken more recently.

"Shower's free," Sam called out as he walked from the bathroom to his room, only a towel wrapped around his waist. Dean shook his head, clearing the images of the happy family out of his head. They only served to deepen the mystery of Dante. _How does someone have everything like this, but still wind up on the messed-up side of reality?_

Sam dressed quickly, wanting a few minutes to look around the house unobserved. Something about Professor Dante was still nagging at a corner of his brain. Several some things, actually. He noted the pictures that Dean had been staring at just minutes before, but they weren't important to his search for answers. He walked carefully down the stairs, avoiding the one that had creaked earlier when they'd been shown up to their rooms. Directly in front of him at the bottom of the stairs was a closed door. He opened it and flipped on the light switch that was on the wall just to the left.

Inside, every wall was covered with bookshelves. About half of these were devoted to what appeared to be literature; the other half was all law books. He ran his fingers along the spines of these, recognizing the titles as some of those that he'd had to read during his pre-law days. At Stanford. Suddenly, he remembered where he'd heard mention of a Dr. Fox before; it had been at his old alma mater. He turned to leave the room, and saw his brother coming down the stairs. "Dean, I know who she is."

"Yeah. She's Professor Dante. She who knocked me around, and handed me my ass on a plate. You're usually not this slow on the uptake, Sammy. You'd think that she gave you a few slams to the head and not me."

"No, Dean. I mean, I know her real name. I know who she really is." As soon as he said this, he heard the same slow clapping that had greeted them when they stepped off the elevator earlier. Both of them jumped at the sound, then looked to where the clapping came from. She was leaning up against the wall nearby.

"Brava, Sam. Enlighten your brother for me, or should I?"

"It's really you? Are you really Miranda Fox?"

"Guilty as charged."

"This is all very fascinating you two, but could you leave off with the cryptic? Who the hell is Miranda Fox, and why should I give a damn?" Sam just stared at Dean with his I-can't-believe-sometimes-that-we're-related glare.

"Dean, Miranda Fox is practically the youngest person ever admitted to law school. She had already finished her _Juris Doctorate_ when I started going to Stanford. She's a legend- completed her degrees in an insanely quick amount of time. Some of the faculty said the school's greatest achievement was convincing her to go there. Everyone expected you to join a huge law firm, become a rainmaker, then wind up as the youngest person on the Supreme Court."

"Just one of the ways in which daddy's little girl failed to meet expectations, I'm afraid. I was being groomed to join his law firm and carry on the family business, like my sister before me. But after law school, I went and got a Master's in American Literature, then my PhD. But let's continue this conversation over dinner. If we're going to bore Dean, then might as well feed him." The last comment startled both of them with its acid tone. Miranda turned around and walk toward what they correctly figured would be the kitchen.

There were three place settings at a small, rectangular table located just to the left of the kitchen. The rest of its surface was covered with various dishes that turned out to be Italian food. There was spaghetti with a meat and marinara sauce, meat lasagna, spinach tortellini with Alfredo, and breadsticks. "This looks great, Miranda," Dean said with obvious appreciation. He doubted that Sam could remember the last meal they'd eaten that even resembled this one; he sure couldn't.

"Thanks. Except for the Alfredo sauce, it's all easier than it looks. Now dig in before it gets cold."

Dean had mostly listened during the conversation over dinner because he had very little to say on the subject of college. Sam and Miranda had reminisced about some of the professors they had had in common and talked about some of Stanford's sports teams' recent and past victories and losses. Because they had been in different graduating classes, there weren't any mutual friends between them, so Dean was spared that particular brand of storytelling.

What he did instead, was watch Miranda as she talked. With Sam, she was animated in her explanations; with him, she was more reserved with her answers, though carefully civil. Combine that with her words and tone from earlier- not to mention the fight- and it added up to some sort of dislike or distrust of him. _What'd I do, or say?_ Dean couldn't think of anything that would merit this level of hostility. _Maybe Brainiac's just a snob._

He cleared his throat when there seemed to be a pause in the Stanford conversation. "Miranda, this food is awesome, but why don't we start talking about why we're here in the first place."

Her face settled into that calm expression that he'd mostly seen it in. It made her look untouched, or untouchable. "You're absolutely right Dean. Let me just get my file."

She walked out of the kitchen, toward her office. Sam glared at his older brother. "What?"

"Dean, that was a little rude."

"I complimented the food. I waited until after the jawing had stopped. Sammy, you two have been talking non-stop about everything but the case. I just figured that if we're on this short timeline, we'd better speed things up a bit."

Miranda walked back into the room, carrying an accordion file filled with several smaller file folders. "Brea Canyon Road, gentlemen. I have a history file here of all deaths that have happened on this road. You know how I told you about all the dead man's curves we have around here- well, Brea Canyon is the worst. It's claimed more lives than all the others combined. Most often, you get a car that goes off the side of the road- took the turns too fast. But recently, I noticed something about some accidents that have happened- a pattern of sorts."

She handed the folder to Sam. "Last year, on January 18, a motorcyclist was found dead on the side of the road. The motorcycle was trashed all to hell, and the guy: decapitated. December 30, 2005, same thing. And again on January 10, 2005. On December 23, 2003. On January 13, 2002. On December 25, 2000. On January 6, 2000. All solo accidents involving a biker; all victims decapitated. Then on January 2, 2003, the pattern altered slightly. There was an accident involving a motorcycle and a car- there was a couple inside, and all three victims were headless when paramedics arrived at the scene.

"I checked all of the dates. Every accident happened on the first New Moon after the Winter Solstice. Gentlemen, the first New Moon is in exactly four days." She glanced at both of them, making sure to catch their eyes. Sam had passed some of the files over to Dean, who started reading. It was a background work-up on one of the deceased. "Based on the dates, I've developed a theory. First, I think that whatever it was, the trigger event had to have been on January 17, 1999. The New Moon is very specific, so I think that something happened that night, because the next post-solstice New Moon was January 6, 2000."

"Okay, Miranda. We're with you so far. What's point number two?"

"If I'm reading the pattern right, Dean, we're due to have an accident involving a biker and a couple in a car." Sam glanced up quickly.

"That's kind of a big leap in logic. How do you figure?"

"My calculations are based off of the past and projected lunar calendar. Look. You have January 6th. Then December 25th. Then January 13th. Then January 2nd. Then December, then January, then December, then January. The accident involving the car happened when there were two Januarys back to back. The most recent event was January 18th, and the next is going to be January 8th unless we stop it."

Sam looked over at Dean, who shrugged. As the saying went, they'd gone farther on less proof. "Okay, so say your theory is right. It means that we're looking for what? An accident involving a biker on January 17, 1999?"

Miranda sighed. "That's what I thought at first, Sam. But there's one problem: there is no record of an accident on that date. Which means that we're looking for a different scenario altogether."


	7. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

**January 5, 2008**

Sam woke up around 6:00 a.m., and it was still pretty dark outside. They had been awake until just past midnight discussing the case and planning their next move. Miranda had to go into work at Cal State Fullerton, even though it was a Saturday. The winter intersession was going on, and her other jobs kept her too busy to maintain office hours on any other day.

Dean and Sam would don their FBI suits and see what they could unearth over at the Brea Police Department. With any luck, they'd be able to get their hands on the case notes and police reports from all the accidents. Miranda also promised to use the school's library databases to search for any other strange incidents or accidents that might lead them to their creature. The plan was to meet back at Inferno to discuss what they'd found.

Knowing he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, Sam decided to get dressed. He checked in on Dean, who was still solidly passed out. His brother actually looked at peace, for once. He could bluff and lie all he wanted, but knowing his one way ticket to Hell was coming due soon was wearing him down. _I guess it's my turn to save your ass_, Sam had said to him when he'd gotten his brother to finally confess the truth. But so far, nothing they'd found would save Dean from the pit, and Sam felt a crushing wave of defeat laced with guilt. Some savior he was turning out to be.

The wonderful smell of coffee suddenly hit his nose, breaking into his moment of self-pity. Closing Dean's door to let him keep sleeping, Sam headed downstairs toward the kitchen. Miranda was at the stove cooking what smelled like eggs and bacon. She was wearing black sweats, the black gloves, and a black tank. Peeking out of the fabric, on her right shoulder, was a tattoo. It looked exactly like the talismans that Bobby had given them just after Meg had possessed Sam. He shuddered at the memories the symbol dredged up.

In the middle of her back, directly between her shoulder blades was another. This one was Celtic in design- some sort of knot done in black and white. On her left, there was yet another tattoo that looked like it might be a semi-permanent henna design. But it consisted of some complex symbols that Sam didn't recognize. There also appeared to be some sort of scarring. Sam jumped when she started speaking. "I thought I heard someone moving upstairs. Nice to know that my Spidey-senses are still fully functional."

"How do you do that?" Her hyper-awareness of her surroundings and ability to move stealthily made him nervous, but also intrigued him.

"When you've lived in a house as long as I have, you learn the sounds it makes when no one is around. They have their own language, their own rhythms. I've listened to it when it's been full of people, when it's just been me… Also, your feet make a lot of noise." She turned around and smiled at him as she said the last bit. "Cups are in the cupboard to your left. Sugar's in there too, if you want it."

Sam grabbed a cup, but looked over at Miranda again. She was focused on the food, clearly making breakfast for all three of them. There were definitely scars on her shoulder. He started to reach toward her. "What happened here-"

Without any warning Miranda dropped the spatula, turned, and grabbed his wrist, twisting it painfully. She quickly released him with a chagrined look. "Sorry. Protecting my back has become a bit of a reflex. Future reference though, don't try and touch me unless I can see you." She averted her gaze, then resumed cooking.

"I didn't think… I'm sorry too."

"To answer your question, what happened was an artist took some scalpels, needles, and ink to my back. The scars are part of the design, and you can't see any color on that part of the tattoo because it only shows up under black light." Sam had never heard of anything like that. "It's not very common, but a trend for them started here in California not too long ago. The black light inks, I mean."

He glanced over his coffee mug at her. She grinned. "What? I don't seem like the tattoo kind of girl to you?"

He thought about that for a moment before answering. "No, but it's not just that… To be honest, I can't figure you out. You're incredibly smart and talented, but you help hunters. Not that the two are mutually exclusive, but most of us are nomads and didn't have much of a choice in what we became. The only other woman I know who in any way resembles you is a professional thief! She does it for the money, and that clearly isn't an issue for you… So, what made you decide to become Professor Dante? What happened?"

Miranda took a deep breath, her shoulder muscles tensing slightly. She smiled up at Sam, a thin, quavering grin. "While I don't enjoy being compared to Bela Talbot, I suppose the resemblance is kind of hard to avoid." She kept pushing the eggs around on the pan for a bit, stalling while searching for an answer to his question. "That's kind of a personal topic, Sam. For now, I'm sure you have other things you can think of to ask me."

"Ok. What's with the tattoos? The pentagram talisman I recognize, but not the others."

"They are also talismans, or wards as some call them. You know the theory of binaries? Yin and yang. Male and female. Light and dark… Well, the same principle holds true for wards. For women, wards are most effective when they are connected to the moon. The visible portion is a compound symbol from Norse and Hebrew tradition. Under black light, that part disappears beneath the moon tattoo. That's the one on my left shoulder- it's placed directly over my heart, opposite where a man's would go."

"On his chest, over his heart."

"Precisely. The pentagram is also for protection, but because it's a masculine symbol, I need something to balance and harmonize it with my main ward. That's where the shield comes in. In each corner of the shield is a Celtic knot known as a _triquerta_. Each knot flows into and out of the next, representing the interconnectedness of all life. Harmony, in other words." She flipped the sizzling bacon off the second pan, then put the next few pieces in.

Sam looked over his shoulder and saw that Dean had gotten up at some point, and was now listening in on their conversation. He signaled for his brother not to let Miranda know that he was there. "Why do you wear gloves all the time? Germaphobic?"

He did know what he'd expected, but he hadn't been prepared for the overwhelming sadness that showed up in her face just before she focused on the food again. Another sensitive topic. "You know that there are genuine psychics out there- people who are born with abilities above and beyond the normal human capacity?"

"I assume that you're talking about people who don't have demon blood in them? People who are just born psychics, like Missouri?" He could tell that she had tried to say it delicately, but her veiled reference to his condition still irritated him.

She swallowed hard, clearly uncomfortable with the censure in his voice. "Correct. As far as my research has led me, there isn't a specific cause for such anomalies, genetic or spiritual… I have been- blessed- with (clairvoyance). If I touch an object or a person, I "download" a part of the item's history or their memories. It can be quite unpleasant, as I'm sure you know."

Sam wasn't sure what to say. On the one hand, he knew precisely how hard it was to have a psychic ability; on the other, he couldn't imagine something as potentially damaging to a person's individuality or psyche as (clairvoyance). "I can't even control it, not really. I've learned how to block the ability to a degree, but you'd be surprised how much we as a species rely on our sense of touch. It's manageable with the gloves. I barely survived my adolescence though- no reason to wear mittens out here in California, even in the dead of winter." She laughed lightly as she said this.

"You weren't always a (clairvoyant)? Can you do anything else?"

She sighed heavily and ignored his questions. "Anyway, it could have been worse. I could have been a telepath." She scraped the eggs into a bowl and fished the last pieces of bacon out of the frying pan and onto the plate. "Please set these on the table, for me, Sam. And Dean, if you could please hit the timer on the oven- the cinnamon rolls should be about done."

Without even looking in his direction, she stepped over to the fridge and opened it up. Sam grinned at his brother, who mouthed _son of a bitch_ before doing what Miranda had asked. Both of them looked at each other with matching expressions of confusion. Even with all that they had learned about her, they still felt like they were dealing with a mystery, not a human being.


	8. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

The Winchesters got out of the car and slammed the doors shut synchronously. It was a move that had developed over the past couple of years simply being around each other, but it actually facilitated their disguise of federally trained agents. When they'd left the house, they'd noticed that Miranda had changed their plates from California to US Government issue. No one would think to question them with government tags to back up their badges. Miranda had even provided D.C. driver's licenses, vehicle registration, and brand new badges, all tucked in an envelope in the glove compartment.

Clearly, she wanted to solve this case pretty bad. She had told them about all of her preparations the night before. Dean had asked why, if she had all of these resources, had she needed to call them in the first place. Problem was, she explained, Brea was her hometown- people knew her too well. There was no way, even with make-up and a wig, she could fool people who had known her all of her life.

Miranda had also provided a detailed map of the city, despite the fact that even at a glance, it was very easy to navigate. The Brea Police Department was on the corner of Birch Street and Randolph, right next to the public library and the city cultural center. Sam enjoyed the nice little irony that these buildings were also located next to the mall, which was the city's main draw and employer.

Dean took the lead, as always, and they walked into the main offices. It looked like pretty much every other PD they had been in over the years- clean entrance way, a reception desk, and the feel of the institution. The officer at the desk was a youngish woman, whose name tag read Buckley. The boys walked toward her, already reaching for their badges.

"Excuse me, Officer Buckley," Sam said quietly, waiting until she looked up and acknowledged them. "I'm Special Agent Dall, and this is my partner, Special Agent Michaels." Over time, they'd come to realize that adding the "special" before agent tended to make other officers show them a higher degree of respect. Sad commentary on the state of the Bureau, but true. She still took a moment to examine their credentials thoroughly, which gave Dean a moment's panic. He trusted the badges he made himself, but wasn't quite sure about Dante's.

"Good morning agents. How are you this morning, and what can I do for you?"

"Well, Officer Buckley, we're interested in some cases that originated in your department. Several odd deaths out on Brea Canyon Road. We need access to the case files as part of an investigation that our department is spearheading."

"What deaths are you referring to?"

Dean leaned over the desk at this point. "Specifically some deaths in accidents over the past few years. Who heads that particular division, Officer?"

"That would be Nathanson's purview actually. I'll let him know you're here."

Ten minutes later, they were headed down to storage with Detective Jack Nathanson. He was a short guy, about 5'7"; black hair and brown eyes; about Dean's age at a guess. "So, what is it exactly that the feds are looking for? All of these accidents were determined to be just that- accidents."

"Our division has special jurisdiction, and that information is classified." Dean always enjoyed saying that to cops. He had a long history of conflict with the law, and the few good cops he met hadn't changed his opinion of them in general.

Sam glared at his brother. "We mean no disrespect, Detective Nathanson. We're sure that your department performed your investigation with all due diligence. Our job is simply to verify that these accidents are unconnected to other suspicious activities in the area."

At this point, they were in the basement of the police department. Boxes were stacked everywhere in a neat and organized fashion. "Alright. Not sure what you're going to find down here, but you're welcome to it. Accident reports and closed cases are over here. Just buzz me if you need anything."

"Thank you, detective. One more question, we might also need access to kidnappings and missing persons files. Where would those be located?"

Several hours later, they had all of the information they could find on the accidents themselves. At Miranda's suggestion, Sam had brought his laptop and had scanned all of the documents they needed. "Okay, so not only was she right about the lunar cycle, but it looks like the deaths all happened around the same time frame- between midnight and 1 A.M. Something that specific almost sounds like it could be a ritual to me."

"Yeah, Sammy, but what kind of ritual? I mean, it's not like there are any pagan gods who require the sacrifice of bikers on an annual basis."

"That we know of. But you're right… the choice of victims, if it is a choice, points more toward a person than any sort of creature. Someone practicing black magic, but with a beef against motorcycles?"

"That sounds pretty far-fetched, but then, stranger things have happened. Okay, keep looking at the accidents out on Brea Canyon- go further back, before the first known victim. Then start checking out the missing persons."

"Where are you going, Dean?"

"I think I'm going to go talk to the good Doctor again. I want to see what she's come up with so far."


	9. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

The English and Comparative Literature department of California State University Fullerton was housed in University Hall, a building almost exactly on the Southeast corner of campus. Even with classes in session, the school was pretty dead. Dean imagined what the place would look like at night- with all the thick foliage and large, overhanging trees, it looked more like a college in the mid-West or back East than one in sunny Southern California.

To his right, there was an outdoor study area where a temporary coffee shack was set up. It was being closed down at the moment, even though there were one or two students still reading at the tables. Dean figured bringing a peace offering couldn't hurt, so he walked over and bought two black coffees before heading into the building. He took the stairs up to the fourth floor and started looking for Dante's office. He finally found her name plate: Dr. E. Miranda Fox.

The door was slightly ajar. Today, she was wearing a bone colored skirt and vest with a bright blue shirt. The office was on the warm side, so she had the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, but she was still wearing the gloves. At the moment, she was stretched up on her toes, trying to put a book back on the top shelf of her floor to ceiling bookcase. Dean watched appreciatively. He could see now what he had missed on their first meeting.

She was curvy and had the soft look of someone who spent their life behind a desk and a book, but it was all a clever deception. He could see her muscles clearly defined in her calves when she was reaching up. The fabric of her shirt clung to her arms tightly as she extended. Like she had done to him, she could kick your ass, and you'd never see it coming. This woman worked hard to make people underestimate her.

"How do you explain the gloves to your students and colleagues? Surely you've had more than one or two enquiring minds over the years."

"When you have a reputation for being a genius, most people expect you to have one or two eccentricities. I usually ask the person what their theory is about them, then just don't answer. It adds to my mystique." She didn't react as if he'd startled or surprised her. He'd been hoping to do just that. "I heard the stairwell door, and your shoes squeak slightly when you walk."

"You really don't miss much, do you?" He handed her one of the cups. She smiled slightly at him before reaching out to take the coffee. She took off the lid and smelled the steaming liquid, then took a delicate sip.

"Paying attention can save your life, Dean. Mine has been in too much danger already. I can't afford to be careless when my continued existence depends on it. Where's Sam? Did you guys find anything interesting?"

"We got all of the accident files, and Sam is still back at BPD looking into the missing persons and kidnapping files."

"I think that's going to be our best lead. I have something as well." She went over to her desk and grabbed some papers from under a stack of books. Dean went over to stand by her and looked down at what she had. "It's an article from the OC Register- January 1999. This guy, Jonathan Pierce, went missing on the night of January 10th- never heard from again. This is a plea from his fiancé for information on his whereabouts. It says here that Pierce was an avid biker; used to hang out at this bar in Downtown Fullerton. I figure that it's worth checking out. We can go there tonight- see if we can't get some information from the people who work there."

Dean scanned the article. "What's the lunar cycle on this one? How close was it to the first new moon after the Winter Solstice?"

"I hadn't gotten that far yet. Here- use my laptop. See if you can find anything else about this guy, maybe whether or not he's still listed as a missing person. Once you connect to the internet, I have the FBI and local law enforcement databases listed under bookmarks. I trust you can navigate from there." Again, the civil tone was dropped in favor of biting sarcasm.

"Look, I'm sorry about taking a swing at you before. Can we please drop the tone? I Mean, we're on the same side here, and don't forget that you called Sam and me down here."

"You're assuming that I'm mad because you tried to fight me? You think you are the first guy to ever try and hit me? Do not flatter yourself, Dean Winchester." She stormed out of the office, leaving Dean even more in the dark about her behavior toward him than before.

Miranda had returned about fifteen minutes later with a couple of almanacs tucked under her arm. Dean had quickly figured out that Jonathan Pierce was still on the missing persons' database, but he had also pulled several other names of bikers who had gone missing in California under suspicious circumstances. She had still been flipping through the almanacs when he decided to shut his eyes. The sound of pages turning was kind of soothing, relaxing.

"Dean." He felt a hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes. Miranda was standing over him. "I want to apologize for my behavior." He noticed that the top couple buttons of her blouse were open, and he could see the top of a blue lacy bra. She placed one knee on either side of his thighs, and settled onto his lap.

"I just can't help myself around you. I've never wanted anyone so much, and it scares me." She reached down and pulled his tie all the way off, dropping it on the floor behind her. Then, Miranda took his hands and placed them on her waist."Can you ever forgive my rudeness? How can I make it up to you?" Dean felt the heels of her boots dig slightly into his calves, using them like spurs.

"Dean?" Her lower lip was pouted. She was letting him know that the next move was his. He moved his right hand up to her face, pulling her to him and kissing her. He'd meant for it to be soft and gentle, but his intentions flew out the window at her response. Her kiss was wild and unpredictable, so unlike the rest of her personality. Before he knew what had happened, his belt and shirt were gone and so were her vest and blouse. She had tried to pull back, but he had followed, nibbling and sucking on her collarbone.

She pushed him away hard, holding a hand to his chest to make him stay away. Watching him the whole time, she peeled the gloves off on at a time. Then, tentatively, she touched a hand over his heart. He felt her whole body shudder. She placed her left on his shoulder while her right wandered over his chest. Dean couldn't describe what was happening to her- she looked like she was witnessing a miracle.

Finally, she placed her hand on the side of his face, like he had done to her earlier. He crushed her against his chest, kissing her hard. He ran his hands down her back and ass, then up again to unhook her bra. She broke the kiss with a gasp and began moaning his name. "Dean. Dean!"

"DEAN!" He woke suddenly, violently. Miranda was shaking him, and he could hear his phone ringing. "Your phone has been going off for over a minute now. Wake up."

He reached into his pocket and flipped open the phone quickly. "Yeah."

"Hey. You sound like you've been sleeping. I thought you were going over to the school to talk to Dante."

He so owed Sam big time. Who knew where that dream would have led if it had kept going? He was just glad that Miranda was safely behind her desk at the moment, and apparently hadn't noticed anything potentially embarrassing. "I'm with her right now. We might have a lead for you. Jonathan Pierce- he went missing in 1999 around the right time for the lunar cycle."

He looked over at Miranda, who nodded her head and motioned for him to come over to the desk. He got up awkwardly, then walked over. She had a piece of paper placed under the appropriate date. "It looks like the first new moon was on January 17th, and our missing person disappeared on the night of the 10th."

"Sure. That makes sense- gives the person about a week to perform any preparatory rituals. Let me see if I can find him in these files, and I'll scan everything we need. Hey Dean, am I on speaker?"

"No."

"Good, because there's something that Dante neglected to mention to us."


End file.
